5 Degrees of Weirdness

This blog is all about me and how my different beliefs and perspectives make me weird. At first, I had no intention of posting my stories to my blog, but now that seems to be the biggest reason people visit my blog, lol! So come read about me, and let me know what you think!

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Saturday, December 16, 2017

Please remember that this is intended as Satire and that it should be taken with a grain of salt. My thoughts and beliefs do not have to be yours, and you don't have to get mad at me for having them.The current, nearly dogmatic stance taken by Pro-Vaccinators feels a bit like this:Pro to other person: "So here's how it works:

"You're
going to have sex – whether you want to or not – using a condom
made out of mercury... full of holes... with a person we know
has syphilis. Before you do this, we're going to reassure you that if
anything goes wrong, there's a national organization specifically to
compensate you for the problem. After you do this, if anything
actually does go wrong, that organization won't actually compensate
you because you cannot PROVE that what's wrong with you is a result
of this fully protected sex we forced you to have and NOT the
unprotected sex you had with your spouse. And best of all, the reason
we're forcing you to have this unwanted sex is because if you don't
and get this disease this is supposed to protect you against, you'll
probably give it to me and everyone else who has done this.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Draco
woke up in a rather pleasant mood. He stretched and yawned before
rolling over to find Harry and hopefully take care of some morning
wood. Only Harry wasn't in bed.

With
a disappointed sigh, Draco got out of bed and padded to their en
suite bathroom. He immediately found Harry, who was draped over the
toilet having an unpleasant conversation with it about the fact that
he was pregnant. This sight churned Draco's stomach a little, but he
was able to ignore his discomfort to focus on being sympathetic.

Until
Harry heaved up something to add to the toilet. Draco had less than a
second to conjure up a bucket before he vomited. When he was done, he
sat on the bathroom floor and pressed a hand to his roiling stomach.
He wasn't even the pregnant one!

Harry
heaved again and Draco added more to his bucket. When he was done, he
took a few deeply calming breaths. Then he glared at Harry. “I
blame you...”

Friday, January 27, 2017

“I
have something for you, catch,” Draco ordered as he tossed a small
box at Harry.

Harry
caught the antique yet expensive jewelry box and stared at it in
surprise. “Oh wow! Already? I thought I was going to have to talk
you into it a lot more.”

“What?”
Draco asked in confusion.

“Well,
just that you didn't seem ready yet. The answer's yes, by the way.”

“Er...”
Draco droned in confusion for a moment. “I get the feeling that
we're having two different conversations.”

Harry
frowned. “Alright... What are you
talking about?”

Draco
gestured to the box. “I found a ring in my vault that is positively
layered with
protective charms, and since you're an Auror, I thought it might come
in handy.”

“Oh,”
Harry murmured with a blush as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why,
what were you talking about?” Draco asked, still more confused than
anything.

“Er...”
Harry said, unable to come up with a good evasion, so he simply
opened the box and smiled at the ring. “Thanks for this.”

“Wait...”
Draco murmured, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Were you... Did
you...” Then his expression changed to one of pure shock, making
him gape at Harry.

Feeling
far more embarrassed than he probably should, Harry spun around in
order to flee the room. But before he could escape, Draco tackled him
to the floor.

“Oh
no! You're not getting away that easily!” Draco exclaimed, fighting
hard to keep Harry from wriggling free. Harry eventually gave up his
struggle and let Draco pin him to the floor, flat on his back and
with his hands above his head. “You said yes...”

Harry
couldn't decide if that was said reverently or as an accusation. “Er,
well, as you said, we were having two different conversations.”

“You
said yes,” Draco repeated, and this time, there was definitely awe
in his voice. He seized a kiss so demanding that Harry nearly
sacrificed his ability to breath for the greater good before he
pulled away.

“Yes,”
Harry repeated in a soft whisper.

“Yes!”
Draco hissed happily, releasing Harry's hands so that he could
smother him in an exuberant hug. “YES!”

Harry
chuckled at that, returning the hug and stealing a kiss from Draco in
return. Had he known that Draco would be this receptive, he might
just have asked that question a while ago. With a grin, he decided it
didn't matter since – happily – the end result was the same.

Friday, September 23, 2016

It
was just after dark and the gang was driving along a road in a rather
dead and eerie looking forest.

Harry
was behind the wheel, a fairly attentive driver since he'd just got
his muggle license not too long ago. He looked around at the road
signs and nodded his head. “Well, we're almost to the Parkinson
Estate,” he informed them conversationally.

Hermione
hummed as she consulted the map. “It surprisingly nice of Pansy to
ask us up here for the weekend. And we have a chance to take a road
trip while we're at it.”

Draco shrugged
indifferently. He was sitting in between Harry and Hermione in the
front seat of the gigantic vintage cargo van, and he was getting
impatient to arrive. He muttered why couldn't we just apparate
under his breath before making an effort to be nice. “There
are so many interesting things to do in the area. I'm sure we'll have
a lot of fun.”

Ron
was sitting in the back of the van, about to eat a tall sandwich that
he just finished making. They could all tell that he was hungry
because it seemed to be all he could think about. “Yeah? Like what?
Swimming and eating? Tennis and eating?” Gregory Goyle – also
sitting in the back of the van – surreptitiously reached for the
sandwich. “Driving and eating? And eating and ea – huh?!” Ron
exclaimed when he went to take his first bite and realized that Greg
had stolen his sandwich.

Greg
gulped the sandwich down practically in one bite and made a show of
licking his fingers clean. Ron was devastated and a bit horrified.
“How do you like that?”

Harry
slowed down and pointed out his window. “Hey, look up there!”

They
all shifted around to look and see a creepy old mansion. It was
shaped like an L or a 90 degree angle. The middle – where the L or
the angle formed a point – had a round tower-like room. Since it
was night, it looked dark brown. There was a grassy court yard. Sort
of elegant or refined.

There
was an ominous feeling and a slight fog in the air, plus moaning,
wailing, and creepy calling. Off to the right of the house, there was
a graveyard with a small mausoleum. A bat flew away from it,
screeching shrilly.

A
man in a brown business suit with a white dress shirt and black tie;
with short brown hair and a well-groomed beard, and thick, circular,
black glasses walked through the graveyard. His hands were stretched
out in front of him like a zombie, but his steps were rather quick,
if a bit stilted. They watched the man until he was walking right in
front of the house.

Draco
shuddered lightly. “Merlin and Salazar! Someone's going into that
rundown old mansion. Don't they know that it's probably full of dark
curses from long dead pureblood families?”

Ron
frowned and scratched his head. “Whoa... Who'd do a mental think
like that?”

Greg
shook his head slowly, baffled. “I don't know.”

***

They
arrived at the Parkinson Estate about twenty minutes later, which –
even in the dark – looked gleaming white and pretty. The entryway
was tall and spacious with roman columns for decoration. It was a
rectangular building with two levels. To each side of the entrance
was a pronounced wing – which people with normal sized houses
simply called sides.

Surrounding
the mansion was a rather nice, well-groomed yard with decorative
bushes, but also some scraggly looking trees. This was rather
surprising on a magical property where charms helped the plants
thrive no matter the season, so Hermione was willing to bet they had
some sort of tree disease. Too bad Neville wasn't with them.

Inside
the parlor, Pansy greeted them with a sneer. “Gee, it sure took you
long enough! I could have gone to the spa and had a mudbath in the
time it took you to arrive!” She had her hands clenched into fists
and pressed into her hips as she glared at them.

She
was wearing a simple, sleeveless, above knee-length summer dress in
turquoise with a black belt. Draco knew that she had thrown on
something casual to wait in until they arrived. They'd likely change
into something sexier when they figured out what they wanted to do
first.

“I
do hope this wasn't the wrong weekend for you to come up
here,” she growled softly to let them know that she had reached the
limit of her patience.

Harry
frowned curiously. “Why's that, Pansy?”

Mr.
Parkinson, her father, sighed a bit wearily. “Well, the last few
nights, we've been hearing a lot of strange noises.” He was wearing
shades of blue with a slightly lighter dress shirt and a darker
jacket and matching trousers. He was also smoking a pipe.

Pansy
rolled her eyes, not quite able to believe that her father thought
that was the important part. “And now, it looks like my Uncle
Stewart has vanished.”

Greg
yelped nervously at that.

Draco
stroked his chin in thought, wanting to help his best friend. “Could
it have been him that we saw going into that old mansion down the
road?”

Mr.
Parkinson tilted his head to the side as he wondered what Draco was
referring to. “Do you mean the Kingston Mansion? Maybe we'd better
go over there and see.”

“Uh-uh!”
Greg said in a tone of slightly scared denial. He shook his head and
adamantly repeated. “Uh-uh!”

***

The
next thing Greg knew, they were all standing outside the creepy old
mansion. He sighed in reluctant acceptance.

Pansy
called out in clear concern for her favorite uncle – even though he
was eccentric and practically a squib. “Uncle Stewart! Uncle
Stewart!”

Ron
looked around carefully. He thought that something felt off, but he
couldn't put his finger on what. “You know, there's no sign of him
anywhere.”

Draco
noticed something and pointed his wand at the underside of the
central tower so he could cast a Lumos. “Look! Someone's in the
shadows!”

Stewart,
sounding and looking depressed, didn't even glance up. “It started
when a ghostly voice called out from the old mansion. I had to obey
it.” His eyes went vague and far away as he remembered what
happened. “It drew me out of the house. I was in a trance. I went
past the Kingston Mausoleum … and finally, into the old mansion. …
And there... is where I saw the ghost of Elias Kingston. He... He
appeared as a man with black hair, alarmingly blue skin on his face
and hands, beady black eyes, and he was wearing a brown trench coat
reminiscent of that old fictional muggle detective: Sherlock Holmes.”

Now
Stewart looked up for a moment. “The Kingston Mansion was full of
large cobwebs. The furniture was covered with sheets to protect it
from dust, and yet it looked rather clean and elegant in places; the
chandelier sparkling and the curtains drawn open. In other places,
things are just lying around and it's quite derelict.”

Stewart
looked down into his lap. “The ghost of Elias said: The Parkinson
Fortune belongs to me! Unless it is returned to this mansion before
morning, the entire family shall suffer this terrible fate! Then he
waved his hands at me as if dramatically casting a spell – without
his wand! I turned from the middle aged man I was to the old
man you see now.”

Stewart's
right arm was now propped on the arm of the chair, holding up his
head. He looked a cross between depressed and resigned. A heavy sigh
escaped him.

Pansy
glared at everyone for a second as if daring them to make fun of her
favorite uncle so that she could hex them. “What are we going to
do?”

Mr.
Parkinson walked over to his fireplace. “First of all, I'm going to
call the Aurors.” He put his hand in a bowl and grabbed a pinch of
powder to toss in the fire, but then nothing happened. “That's
strange; the Floo's dead!”

Hermione
frowned in thought as she cast spells to see if she could reverse
Stewart's age – to no avail. “Why don't you Apparate to the
Ministry and get an Auror, Mr. Parkinson? We'll wait here.” She
gave him a look meant to seem helpful and reassuring. Calm and
unafraid.

Harry
nodded in agreement. “We'll keep an eye on Uncle Stewart until you
get back.” He looked concerned and determined and serious. Every
bit a leader/person in charge.

Mr.
Parkinson was hesitant. “Are you sure you'll be alright?”
He was still staring at the fireplace as if hoping it would
miraculously start working again.

Harry
nodded confidently. “Sure, and just to make sure nothing else
happens, we'll all take turns standing guard.” He was still
determined and serious, reminding them all of the time that he
defeated Voldemort.

Draco
looked torn between being bored and resigned to the inevitable.
Hermione looked ready for anything. Ron had a slight smile, probably
because he didn't think they could get into too much trouble in this
nice safe mansion where there was probably food. While Greg looked
alert and a bit happy for some reason.

Draco
decided to play along and looked at Harry. “Who's going to stand
the first watch? And why can't we just set a monitoring spell on
Uncle Stewart once we've put him to bed and warded his room?”

Harry
answered the first question first. “Who else? The Watchdog.” He
smirked playfully as he pointed in Greg's direction. Then he
muttered: “And who said we wouldn't have a ward against intruders?”

Greg
looked over at Harry. “Right, the watchdog,” he agreed, and then
it hit him what Harry meant and he did a double take of apprehension
and dismay; one hand rubbing over the other in a self soothing
gesture. “That's me?!”

Harry
was still pointing at Greg, but now it was rather sternly. “That's
right! That's you.”

Hermione,
trying to be reassuring but sounding a bit gleeful, added: “Just
think Greg, no ghostly voice will get past your keen sense of
hearing.” This was a reference to the reason that Greg was so good
as a low skilled security guard for a muggle company. All he had to
do was walk around the building he was guarding (at night) and listen
for anything out of the ordinary. He always
caught intruders, even when they thought they weren't making a sound.

Even
so, Greg was a bit of a coward at heart. He promptly took off running
away from them. Also an incorrigible practical joker, he grabbed a
prop – an old horn meant to aid with hearing – returned, and held
it to his ear to pretend like he couldn't hear what they had said.
“Eh?”

Harry
grabbed the horn and smashed it onto Greg's head. “That old hard of
hearing trick isn't going to work tonight, Greg.”

Greg
grinned and laughed sheepishly – also shrugging as if asking: well,
can you blame me for trying?

Maybe
a half an hour later, Stewart was dozing in the purple armchair while
Greg was laying on a couch, sound asleep and snoring. An open french
style patio door let in a rather strong breeze and the insistent
ghostly moaning/wailing from earlier. Stewart – now awake – sat
up abruptly, looking a bit pained to hear that horrible sound again.

Ghostly
voice called out: “Come! Come!”

Stewart
stood up and started walking toward the open door, his hands once
again stretched out in front of him like a zombie. Greg had charmed a
tiny stuffed bear to let him know if anything happened, and it tapped
him until he woke up and saw that Stewart was no longer in his chair.

Greg
was immediately alert and confused. “Huh? Where'd he go?” He
looked around thoroughly. Not finding Stewart, he rushed to grab a
horn off the wall – under a curved short sword – and sound an
alarm. Comically standing at attention like a soldier.

Harry
called out after they all Apparated into the room. “Hey, what's
with the bugle call, Greg?”

Greg
rolled his eyes and scoffed. “What do you think? He's gone!”

Hermione
tutted. “Uh-oh! It looks like Uncle Stewart is gone again!” She
appeared to be smirking as if she was having fun now that something
interesting was happening.

Draco
glared at her. “He's not the only one; Pansy's gone too!” He was
genuinely concerned about the disappearance of his best friend,
touchy bitch though she may be.

“But
where could they be?” Ron asked, also wearing a look of concern.

“We'd
better get ourselves up to that old mansion,” Harry stated,
looking a bit angry.

“And
fast!” Hermione agreed, still looking rather eager.

***

Once
at the old Kingston Mansion, the gang was walking along in a group,
except for Ron, who was wearing skates and rolling behind them.

Draco
sighed, still very worried about Pansy. “I don't see any sign of
Pansy, Uncle Stewart, or the ghost!”

Ron
snorted in amusement. “Maybe we're in luck and he's out haunting
another house.”

Hermione
tilted her head to look at her boyfriend over her shoulder. “Say,
what've you got on your feet? Muggle roller skates??? Why are you
wearing those silly things?”

“I'm
not taking any chances,” Ron said with a solemn shake of his head.
“If we do see that ghost, he'll never catch me!”

Greg
was sneaking along, looking like he was pretending to be a
bloodhound. “Huh?” He murmured as he noticed a tall, wide curio
cabinet/book shelf with glass doors containing a lot of books.
Something about it seemed weird to him, but he couldn't figure out
why.

They
continued walking past it – Greg having decided that it wasn't so
weird after all. After they'd gone past, it slid aside to reveal a
secret room. In the room, Pansy was sitting on a plain wooden and
unsurprisingly uncomfortable chair with her hands tied behind her
back and a gag in her mouth. The blue skinned ghost peeked out of the
room, looking at Pansy's friends, who were oblivious to what was
going on.

The
ghost decided to quietly follow them, and the cabinet slid back into
place – closing up the secret room. At this point, the gang drifted
apart without saying a word about it. They didn't even realize they
had done it, as evidenced a moment later when Ron talked to Hermione
as if she was right behind him.

He
had stopped rolling along to bend over in front of an empty fireplace
and look in a medium sized pottery vase. “I wonder if ghosts can
hide in little pots?”

The
very blue ghost picked up a small bellow sitting in front of the
fireplace and squeezed it to send a gust of air at Ron's rear. He was
startled so much that he went skittering across the room. He cried
out Wa and Whoa repeatedly as he desperately tried to
regain control over his skates. His arms were flailing and trying to
maintain balance at the same time.

He
ended up skating into a separate room and landing in a bathtub. Since
this was an old Wizarding home, the shower hanging over the large,
deep, claw foot tub was charmed to turn on when entered, thus it
abruptly began showering him even though he certainly hadn't turned
it on. He didn't have time to turn it on as he was landing on
his butt. He laughed and shivered – because the water both tickled
and was cold. He had no ability to get out of the tub – which was
rapidly filling – without slipping and falling. So, he had to take
the time to remove his skates, all the while chuckling and muttering
abut his luck.

***

At
the same time, Greg was looking through a door warily, as if he
expected an attacker to be lurking around the corner. He exclaimed in
delight when he realized that he'd found the kitchen. “Woohoo!
Food!” He repeatedly licked his lips hungrily; after all, he hadn't
eaten since he'd stolen that sandwich from Ron in the van.

He
ran up to the Wizarding equivalent of a refrigerator – an ice box
charmed to stay cold, when it worked. Excitedly, he yanked it open,
only to find a large soup bone covered in cobwebs. This did not deter
him as one might think. “Oh boy oh boy oh boy!”

He
grabbed the bone, obviously happy to have it. He then blew the dust
off of it. A short but mean sounding gray pitbull entered the kitchen
and snarled at him. Without giving it even a moment of thought, Greg
shoved the bone in the pitbull's mouth and took off running. The
pitbull crunched the bone in one bite and gave chase.

Greg
hid under an overturned half barrel, and then tried to sneak away
when the pitbull wasn't looking. The blue hand of the ghost emerged
from behind a curtain dividing the kitchen from the larder or cellar,
and pointed at Greg with a hissed: “Psst! Psst!”

The pitbull cleverly
got the hint and looked over at Greg – who was just now making his
way out the kitchen door that he had initially come in through. The
pitbull gave chase once more as Greg managed to go through another
doorway and hide off to the side – just in time to slam the half
barrel on top of the pitbull, thereby trapping him and possibly
knocking him out. Greg walked away feeling rather proud of himself,
even chuckling in glee.

The
pitbull recovered himself with a shake, but couldn't get out from
under the half barrel. Instead, he tried running around blindly.

Meanwhile,
Ron had just barely emerged from the bathroom, looking at himself and
his sopping clothes in mild disgust. “Wow, how soggy can a bloke
get?” He cast a drying charm and sighed in relief when it worked.

The
trapped pitbull came barreling into Ron, knocking him all the way
back into the tub. Which of course reactivated the shower. The tub
was still rather full from before, but at least now, the water was
decently warm. Ron draped his right arm so that it was resting on the
side of the tub along with his left elbow. He then propped his chin
on his left hand as if resigned to the inevitable, not surprised in
the least to find himself in a tub with a strange dog – who didn't
seem upset with Ron – despite being an intruder. Actually, the
pitbull was rather embarrassed and dismayed to find himself in a
bath. He yelped as if crying out: Sorry!

Ron
grumbled to himself wryly: “If there's one thing I can't stand,
it's taking a bath in a haunted house.”

***

Later
on, the gang had reunited. Harry had his fists pressed into his sides
in determination. Draco had his hands resting calmly at his sides and
looked like he was trying to look sexy and distracting while
listening to his boyfriend. Hermione had her hands behind her back,
looking attentive and ready for anything. She also looked amused,
like she knew a secret the rest of them hadn't figured out yet. Both
Ron and Greg looked to be in a good mood, having light smiles.

Harry
grinned and congratulated Greg. “Whether you know it or not, Greg,
you found our first clue!”

Greg
looked baffled and surprised. “I did?”

Hermione,
now rather serious, for once, tried to reassure him. “Sure! Whoever
heard of a ghost needing a watchdog to scare anybody away?” She
looked from Ron to Harry and then back to Ron again.

Ron,
looking more disappointed and upset than relieved like they assumed
he would be, asked: “You mean there aren't any ghosts here?”

Harry
smirked, finally looking like he was in a good mood. Possibly
happy or mischievous, or maybe just smug because he seemed to be
figuring things out. “Well, I haven't seen any. Yet.”
Inexplicably, he pointed to the ceiling.

Draco
held back a laugh as he assumed that Harry was just trying to
playfully wind his best friend up. Then he remembered that Pansy was
still missing and sighed. “And we haven't seen Pansy or her Uncle
either.” He was currently standing so close to Hermione that they
could be arm in arm. Hermione was frowning and finally looked like
she understood that the situation was tense.

On
the other hand, Ron was looking puzzled and a bit morose. “Hey, was
Uncle Stewart wearing a blue suit, red tie, and tennis shoes?”

Actually,
he wasn't. He was wearing a brown suit, black tie, and black dress
shoes. It was Mr. Parkinson who was wearing a blue suit, blue shirt
with no discernible tie, and black dress shoes. It was very unlikely
for any pureblood worth his salt to wear tennis shoes. However, no
matter how much Ron tried to correct himself, some sort of minor
curse made it impossible to say anything different. Fortunately,
everyone seemed to understand his predicament.

Harry
looked over at Ron curiously. “Yeah. Why?”

Shaggy
covered his eyes and pointed down at a chair off to his side. “Then
I think we found him, only he looks a little older
now!”

It
was another purple armchair – strangely, exactly the same as
the one he was sitting in before, back in his own home. However, he
was now a skeleton, a very dry and old looking skeleton.

Harry
had his left hand casually in his pocket. He didn't look surprised,
although he sounded it. “Well! I guess that ghost wasn't kidding!”

Hermione,
now standing next to Harry and calmly looking at the skeleton,
remarked with a wry little laugh. “That's just about as old as you
can get!”

Greg
whimpered a bit loudly when he saw the skeleton. He never did like
being around anything dead. Or dying.

Harry
frowned and sighed in frustration. “It sure would help if we could
find another clue.”

Ron
droned for a second or two. “Er... Uh-huh, I found one.” He was
pale and a bit freaked out as he pointed over his shoulder – which
now had a blue hand resting on it.

Harry
grinned. “Brilliant! What is it?” He looked over at Ron
expectantly.

Harry,
Draco, and Hermione exclaimed in unison: “It's the ghost!” They
were alarmed and surprised to see something solid standing there.
Meaning that someone was trying to swindle the Parkinsons and doing a
terrible job of faking a ghost.

Greg
was gaping at the 'ghost' in shock, not remembering that he had seen
many a real ghost at Hogwarts and wasn't particularly afraid of them.
“Ghost!” He cried out in genuine fear and promptly ran away. He
hid in a closet and placed a hastily conjured 'out to lunch' sign on
the door before he slamming it shut.

The
rest of the gang was gaping at the fake ghost during his ultimatum
with their mouths open. Ron looked rather puzzled, like he was
wondering why the so-called ghost hadn't attacked him earlier. Harry
was downright gobsmacked, probably because he had believed that this
whole thing had been an entertaining but mythical mystery – until
now. Draco looked mildly astonished that the ghost was a real being
of some sort, and Hermione had her lip curled in disbelief. She
couldn't – literally could not believe that this blue man
dared to call himself a ghost.

The
thing claiming to be the ghost of Elias Kingston was glaring at them
menacingly. “This is the last warning! Either the fortune is here
by morning, or all those in the Parkinson house shall grow old. Now
go!” He commanded and then walked away rather smoothly, as if he
wasn't worried in the slightest about being chased or disobeyed.

Hermione
snorted dismissively. “Horrible old blue face really said a
frightful mouthful!” She gave Harry a look like she was wondering:
What now?

Meanwhile,
Harry was looking at her as if she had all the answers. A moment
later, he clenched his fists in determination. “Well, we're not
going to let that absurd threat scare us.”

Ron
gaped at Harry a bit incredulously. “We're not?”

Harry
smiled at Ron, trying to be gently reassuring but also firm in his
stance. “No Ron, we're going to solve
this mystery.”

“Hey,
where's Greg?” Hermione asked as she looked around the room for
him. “Oh! I bet he's in that closet. Hmm, out to lunch,” she
murmured as she read the sign.

Harry
walked over and opened the door.

Hermione
chuckled softly, sounding like she was mentally rolling her eyes
fondly. “Can you imagine? Hiding in the closet!”

Harry
was now holding the door open. “Yeah, with Greg, I wouldn't be
surprised.”

They
were now all standing in a group looking into the closet. To their
surprise, Greg was merrily eating a plate full of chicken legs at a
small table covered with a light blue cloth, by candlelight, with a
rose bud in an elegant vase. He chuckled a bit sheepishly but also a
bit roguishly, as if he was thinking: sorry, not sorry.

Ron
scoffed, looking hurt and a bit offended. “How do you like that? He
didn't even invite me!”

***

A
few minutes later, outside the mausoleum, the gang watched the
'ghost' go inside and shut the door.

Draco
pointed this out just in case the rest of them had somehow missed it.
“You all saw that, right? The blithering idiot that wants us to
believe he's a ghost...” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I'd say it was a muggle doing it, but I can't believe...
Seriously, not even a muggle can think ghosts look like that!”

Hermione
chuckled in agreement. “Yeah! They'd have to be pretty gullible.
Anyway, he went into the mausoleum, so we should try to get close
enough to look inside.”

Harry
cleared his throat decisively, sounding like he thought some of them
might try to run away if he didn't take charge. He glanced at Ron and
Greg. “Come on, let's see what he's up to.”

They
walked right up to the closed door, casting spells as they went to
detect any repelling wards, unpleasant curses, or nasty hexes.

Harry
pointed at the doorknob. “Okay Ron, use Hermione's fingerprinting
kit and dust for prints.” This was purely to give the two of them a
chance to play around with a few of her muggle toys. More than happy
to have such an opportunity, Hermione dug the kit out of her tiny
beaded purse.

Ron
opened the box Hermione held out. “Right Harry, I'll give it the
old Sherlock Holmes Touch.” Both he and Hermione exchanged grins,
letting everyone else know that they were definitely having fun
playing detectives. Ron used the black powder puff on Hermione's
hand.

Ron
smirked playfully at his girlfriend. “Like wow! Look at all those
fingerprints!”

Hermione
gave him a light glare even as Draco sighed, crossed his arms over
his chest, and impatiently tapped one foot. “Not my hand, silly,
that door!”

Greg
snickered at his friend, delighted to not be the blatantly stupid
one, for once. Ron happily ignored him and applied the powder to the
knob with the fluffy black puff. It revealed a lot of fingerprints.

Ron
crowed smugly. “Harry! We got something!”

Harry
nodded in satisfaction. “Just as I thought; fingerprints!”

Draco
growls, not quite able to believe that they were acting like idiots
when his best friend was missing. He used a highly sarcastic fake
stage voice to play his part. “Wait a minute! Ghosts
wouldn't leave fingerprints!”

Harry
opened the door and a single bat – probably the same one they'd
seen earlier – came flying out, screeching indignantly. Harry
ducked to avoid it getting caught in his wildly messy black hair. The
gang kept their cool and stared after the bat curiously.

Ron
raised a brow. “Maybe he can turn into a bat?”

Hermione
rolled her eyes and chided him. “Don't be silly, Ron!”

Harry
was full of confidence again, and turned his vibrantly green eyes to
Greg. “Okay Greg, go in there and sniff around for that 'ghost.'”

Greg
narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he was thinking you gotta be
kidding me. He drew back and
curled into himself, shaking his head. “Uh-uh! Uh-uh!”
He gave Harry a flat and stubborn look.

Harry
stared him down firmly. “Would you do it for a chocolate chip
biscuit?”

Scooby
shook his head again, but now he was standing normally and looking
calm and slightly interested. “Uuh-uuh!”

Harry
decided to up the ante. “I'll give you one, how about two, three,
four?” As he said each number, he made another small round biscuit
appear between the fingers of his right hand.

Ron
reached over and stole the biscuits from Harry's hand. Harry gave him
a little glare. Ron briefly returned his glare, unable to believe
that Harry had been holding out on him.

Ron
then popped all four of them in his mouth and promptly munched on
them, moaning happily at how good they tasted. “I'll go!” He
swallowed his pilfered snack happily, stuck out his tongue at Greg,
and half sang a teasing: “Scooby-dooby-doo!”

Greg
frowned and grumbled unhappily, both because he was being deprived of
Harry's homemade and super delicious biscuits, and
because he had no idea was Ron was on about. Harry and Hermione
snickered softly because they did
catch the reference, but Draco simply stared at them as if he was
wondering how he had gotten stuck with such weirdos.

Ron
walked into the mausoleum. He was hunched over slightly and looking
around warily. A faint grin stretched his mouth as he muttered to
himself: “Like, there are times when I'll do anything for
one of Harry's homemade biscuits.”

Not
finding anything to be concerned about, Ron called out to his
friends. “It's okay! Come on in!”

The
rest of the gang walked in through the open door.

Draco
sniffed haughtily. “There's no 'ghost' in here.”

Harry
shrugged indifferently. “Well, we know he came in.”

“There's
something on that table!” Hermione exclaimed, instantly spotting a
big blue book on an old wooden worktable off to the side. It was
titled: Crystalomacy. “Hey, this might be a clue! It's a book on
Crystalomacy. Er... I think it's supposed to mean Crystalomancy.”

Ron
scratched his head in confusion. “Crystal O'Macy? I used to know a
Crystal O'Nerdlinger.”

Hermione
was now holding the book open and reading from it. She cast a look
at Ron. “It's not a girl, Ron! It's a book about how to use
a crystal ball. You know, like Trelawny tried to teach in her
ludicrous Divination class.”

Draco
sighed in aggravation. “You mean that not only are we dealing with
a fake ghost, but now he's pretending to use a crystal ball; the kind
that charlatan muggle fortune tellers use?” His hands were on his
hips and he looked thoroughly annoyed that they'd found something so
stupid to work with.

Hermione
gave him a tiny smile since she happened to agree with his
sentiments. “Right.”

Harry
had his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking rather satisfied
to have a new clue to mull over. “Say, there's an old Swami place
in town. Maybe there's some kind of a connection.” He then had to
explain to Greg that a Swami was one of the many names muggles who
identified as new age witches and wizards – despite not having
magic like they did – called themselves. As he was talking, the
blue hand of the 'ghost' reached out from outside the mausoleum,
grabbed the knob of the door, and pulled it shut.

Ron
reacted first when he heard it clang. “Merlin's moldy toe nails!
The door!” He ran to open it, but of course, it was locked. “Hey!
We're locked in!” He braced one foot against the wall and yanked on
the door as hard as he could. Hermione and Draco both pushed him
aside and cast unlocking spells on the door, without success. Then
they tried to Disapparate, but still, no luck.

Draco
sighed in frustration. “Most of these old pureblood mausoleums are
warded to prevent anyone or anything from getting in or out when
someone activates the ward.”

Harry
shrugged, staying calm so that no one else gave into the urge to
start freaking out. “Well, let's hope there's a secret way out of
here. Start tapping on the walls.”

Draco
nodded because it made sense for a pureblood family to have a
multitude of secrets hidden all around – even and maybe especially
in their grave yard. He was the first to pick a wall and start
tapping on it, but he found nothing. With a soft sigh and growl of
frustration, he kept looking for any little detail that might help.

Both
Ron and Harry silently walked to the far walls. Hermione also found
nothing as she tapped on her wall, but Greg was startled to find a
false wall. When he tapped on it, it rotated in a circle, sweeping
him into the secret room on the other side. No one noticed at first –
despite his yelp of surprise. However, the wall made a sort of
banging noise that caught Ron's attention. He looked over his
shoulder curiously.

“Hey,
like what happened to Greg?” Ron wondered with a frown.

Draco
shrugged, puzzled and more than a little alarmed that the second one
of his friends had suddenly
disappeared. “He was right there a second ago.”

He
walked over to the false wall, quickly joined by the rest of them.
They all leaned closer to the wall to inspect it, Harry tapping on it
– which was the trigger for it to rotate again, putting them in the
secret room while Greg was now out of it.

Greg
was crouched next to the wall and trying to hide his face under his
hands. “Huh?”

The
wall rotated again and again and again until it built up enough
momentum to fling all of them – even Greg – across to the other
side of the secret room. They landed in a tangled heap against the
far wall.

Ron
looked and sounded delighted. “It's a secret passage!”

Draco
was also delighted, but for a different reason. He was relieved that
they weren't actually stuck inside that mausoleum until someone came
looking for them. Also, he wanted to keep looking for Pansy.

Hermione
appeared to be holding back giggles while Harry looked like he was
thinking: Well, that was unexpected. Greg was still trying to
hide under his hands, as if that would protect him from any and all
harm.

Harry
exclaimed in congratulation: “You did it Greg! You found the way
out!”

Greg
perked up, peeking out from under his hands. “I did? Yea!”

***

About
a half an hour later, the gang was driving into a nearby city. Even
though it was dark out already, they had every expectation that it
wasn't too late to visit the Swami's shop. Apparently, Harry loved to
drive so much that he insisted on doing it again rather than Apparate
like Draco wanted. Draco reluctantly gave in simply because Harry
promised to do naughty things to him when they finally managed to go
to bed. As a result, they were all currently crammed into the front
seat – except for Greg, who was sitting in the very middle of the
back seat and leaning forward so that he was part of the
conversation.

Hermione
needlessly reminded them of what they had just learned because she
was happy to know about a useful secret. “That secret passage was a
shortcut to the Parkinson Estate! Who would have guessed that the
Kingstons and the Parkinsons had a secret connection like that. Maybe
the ghost impostor is telling the truth when he claims that the
fortune rightfully belongs to him.”

Draco
stared vaguely at the ceiling as he thought over everything that made
him curious. “I wonder if that passage has anything to do with
Pansy's disappearance? And surely they
must know about it, so why didn't they have it warded against
intrusion in the first place? If it was, in fact, used as a way to
snatch Pansy...”

Harry
pointed as he pulled to a stop. “I don't know, but maybe we'll find
some answers here at the Swami's place.” It was a slim and unlikely
chance, but they didn't have any better ideas at the moment.

The
shop appeared to be empty. It was unlocked, but since it was late, it
was probably closed for business. Even if it was, there was nothing
to keep them out. This more than anything prompted them to shrug off
their misgivings and go inside.

Once
inside, they walked around and looked about the shop curiously for a
few moments – discovering that the most prominent feature was a
round table perfect for four people eating a light lunch. However, it
was only accompanied by two high-backed, dark green armchairs with
horns protruding from a wooden crown-like decoration on the top of
the back of the chairs. The sides of the back of the chairs were
intricately carved wooden wings, and the ends of the armrests were
carved to look like sharp claws.

Ron
harrumphed. “It looks like the Swami is out Swami-ing somewhere
else.”

Harry
shrugged and gave his best friend a cheeky grin. “Then I guess he
won't mind if we take a look around.”

Draco
immediately went over to the door marked storage and opened it. “I
wonder what's in here?”

Hermione
was equally curious for a second, as if she was analyzing all the
details of the shop and sorting for clues. She suddenly realized that
something was wrong. “Draco, not the storage closet!” If their
luck from similar past events carried over, then...

A
pile of things came tumbling out of the now open closet door, landing
on Ron and Greg, who look resigned, like they were thinking: Yep,
should have known.

Ron
sighed as if yielding to the inevitable. “Well Draco, you did it
again.”

Draco
snorted in amusement, but clearly wasn't sorry. Nor did he bother to
help them out. Instead, he simply walked away.

The
door to the shop opened, ringing an annoying bell. Ron and Greg were
already back on their feet thanks to a quickly cast decluttering
spell from Hermione. Panicking without really knowing why, Ron
decided that hiding was the only option that made sense to him at the
moment. “Uh-oh! Sounds like someone's coming!” He exclaimed in a
whisper and rushed to disappear into a hiding spot. Not really sure
why, everyone but Greg followed him.

An
older – white haired and plump – woman entered the shop. She was
wearing a calf length lavender dress with dark blue accents and a
matching dark blue hat with a white feather sticking straight up out
of it. In her right hand, she was holding a pair of fancy glasses to
her nose the same way that people held lorgnettes at an opera. Around
her neck was a large gold locket with matching dangling earrings.
Clutched in her left hand was a fashionable black purse. Lastly, she
had on stylish high heeled shoes that matched her purse.

“Yoohoo,
Swami! Oh Swami!” She called out in a sing-song voice. Spotting
Greg sitting in one of the armchairs, dressed up as a fortune teller,
she drawled happily: “Oh! There you are!”

The
rest of the gang snorted in amusement from where they were now hiding
behind a curtain off to the side of the table. Greg silently stared
at the woman in confusion. He had no idea what to say or do!

Draco
well knew that his friend was a complete idiot and was probably the
worst person to try to
pretend to be a fortune teller. “Oh no! A customer!” He
sneered in dismay and frustration that their quest to find clues and
figure out what happened to Pansy kept getting delayed.

Hermione
smirked in delight. “She thinks Greg is the Swami!”

Harry
lit up, grinning like he just had a brilliant idea. He whispered in
Ron's ear. “Ron, you'd better throw your voice and make Greg sound
like a Swami.”

Greg
looked eager; Ron looked bummed; Draco looked bored; and as usual,
Hermione looked like she had a brilliant idea. In excitement, she
pointed over at the table – which had a rather plain table cloth
over it in shades of light blue.

Hermione
grinned. “Hey look, the table's floating!”

Ron
snorted in amusement. “Merlin's
palsy shaken hands! It's the goony ghost!” The
blue face was now clear for all to see in the crystal ball atop the
floating table.

The
fake ghost growled threateningly. “You did not do as I said;
now you shall pay!”

The
table went flying in their direction.

Harry
quickly looked around in concern. “Hey, look out! Duck!”

They
all flung themselves out of the way.

Hermione
squealed as if she was a child at a muggle theme park. “It's after
us!”

The
table flew by over their heads and they leapt to their feet to watch
it as it eventually stopped and changed direction to chase them
again. This time, it seemed like a better idea to run away.

The
gang – aside from Greg, who must have flung himself to the floor –
arrived at an exit (not the same door as the entrance with the bell),
and Harry opened it. This action made the table go flying harmlessly
outside. Harry hastily shut the door to keep the table out.

The
'ghost' laughed triumphantly. He gleefully gave chase once more. This
prompted the gang to go running away from the flying table again.

Hermione
harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “He's a real joker!”

Ron
agreed with his girlfriend's sarcasm. “I'm not laughing!”

Harry
cried out when the table got close to them once again: “Duck!”

They
all squatted and hunched over so that the table went flying over
their heads. It was then that Ron noticed something that made him
shout: “Look out Greg!”

The
table roughly scooped Greg up so that he was now riding on top of it,
whimpering in fear. The table flew back and forth for a couple of
moments before thoroughly annoying Draco. He pulled out his wand and
cast: “Arresto Momentum!” Which had the rather unfortunate side
effect of the table crashing. Thankfully, despite being under the
wreckage, Greg wasn't hurt.

Harry
gaped at Greg in surprise. “Greg caught the table!”

Ron
pointed at the wrecked table. “Man, this thing flew like it was jet
propelled.”

Harry
frowned over the fact that Ron correctly used a muggle term. Then he
smirked a bit smugly. “You mean like fan propelled!” Which
brought all of their attention to a common table top fan strapped to
the bottom of the ornately carved wooden table. “See? A fan type
motor gave it the power to fly.”

Ron
suddenly looked like he was suffering from indigestion – or more
likely – like he didn't appreciate Harry subtly insulting his
intelligence. As it turned out, Ron was actually concerned for his
friend Greg. “Are you okay, Greg?”

Greg
perked up, even though he was still trapped under the table. “Huh?
Oh! I'm okay.”

Draco
suggested in a dry and reasonable tone – which meant that he was
actually fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe somebody just
moved in.”

Ron
had his hands behind his back, swaying slightly and looking like he
was wondering what to do now. Meanwhile, Harry had his left hand in
his pocket and was looking around as if he suspected that there were
more clues to be found near the ceiling.

Ron
decided to try and crack a joke in response to Draco's sarcasm, but
it was lame. “Then let's move out.”

“And
look what I found,” Draco said, blatantly ignoring Ron as he opened
up a blue case full of jars. “A professional make up kit.”

“And
what's that?” Ron asked as he pointed at an approximately six inch,
rectangular, black Camcorder. “It looks like one of those muggle
thingies – er... a TV camera?”

Hermione
went over to stand next to him and take a look at it. “You're
right, Ron,” she admitted, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,”
Ron confirmed a bit proudly. He gave her a brilliant smile and a
quick kiss on the lips. “It's a miniature TV Camera. Hey, smile
Greg!”

Harry
chuckled and smiled, also a bit proud of himself. “That's how the
'ghost' got on the crystal ball. Closed circuit TV.”

Meanwhile,
Greg was really overdoing his smile – grinning and hamming it up
for the Camera.

Harry
pointed to the crystal ball, which had rolled to a stop at Greg's
feet. “See Greg? That's how you look on TV.”

Greg
looked at the ball, realized that he could see himself moving in real
time, and started pulling a variety of wacky faces – such as
growling or sticking out his tongue. He also waggled his eye brows
alternatively.

“What
a ham!” Ron pronounced with a tone of fond exasperation.

Draco
sighed and tried to hold back his impatience and frustration. “Look,
well, we've got a lot of clues now. Right?”

Ron
looked over at him in surprise. “Huh? We do?”

Harry
looked deadly serious again. “My sexy boyfriend's right! We now
have enough clues to turn the tables on that 'ghost.' Now, here's
what we're going to do.”

***

Later
on, once they'd driven back to the Kingston Mansion, Greg was walking
along hunched over with a wooden treasure chest about a foot wide on
his back that Ron was holding steady. Ron cupped a hand along the
side of his mouth and called out: “Yoohoo! Mr. Ghost, I'm here with
the fortune. Yoohoo!”

Greg
echoed: “Yoohoo!”

Ron
stopped abruptly. “Uh-oh!” There was now a blue hand on his
shoulder from behind. He slowly turned his head to look behind him.

The
so-called ghost of Elias Kingston was looking a bit pleased with
himself. “Ah good! You've brought the fortune. How fortunate for
you.” He took the chest off
Greg's back and set it on a nearby task table with a ragged purple
table cloth. “Stay, until I see it with my own eyes.” He opened
the chest to reveal a toy popping up like one from a jack in the box.
The toy was a clown with a plastic flower in its lapel that conjured
water and squirted the Ghost in the eye. He growled angrily. “It's
a trick!”

At
the same time, Ron and Greg took off running.

“I'll
turn you to bones!” The fake ghost called after them threateningly
before giving chase.

“The
plan's working, Greg,” Ron called out rather needlessly in a
gleeful tone.

“You
can't get away!” The 'ghost' shouted.

Ron
hissed urgently at Greg. “Quick! Get behind the curtain.”

They
made a rather loud scuffling sound just after they disappeared behind
a ceiling-to-floor length purple curtain. A second later, a pair of
thick black shoes came poking out from under the curtain. The 'ghost'
peered at them suspiciously.

Winking
at Greg and cupping his hand along his mouth, Ron said in a loud
stage whisper: “Shh! Greg, I hope the ghost doesn't find us.”

The
'ghost' smirked like he was thinking: heh heh! He rubbed his
right hand over his left fist and prepared to attack or confront
them. He gave them no warning as he put all his strength into
punching his left fist through the curtain, only to howl and wail in
pain when he hit an anvil that the boys had set up specifically for
that purpose.

A
minute or so later, the so called ghost was still crying out in pain
while the entire gang was at the top of a grand but worn out
staircase. It had a rundown wooden balcony at the top to give people
a place to stand as they looked down at the room – which might have
once been a smaller ballroom or perhaps a formal dining room.
Hermione had a projector set up and was smirking conspiratorially at
Harry.

“I
hear the 'ghost' coming,” Harry informed them, though they could
probably all hear it themselves. “Get ready for phase two.”

He
turned to look across the balcony, holding up the Camcorder to film
Ron. “All set, Ron?”

“Yeah,
let's go!” Ron responded enthusiastically. He was now running on
top of a small and hastily put together treadmill.

Hermione
announced a moment later: “He's in the hall!”

Harry
nodded in understanding. “Turn on the projector.”

Down
where the fake ghost was – he had thankfully stopped wailing – a
projection of Ron ran around the room. The 'ghost' raised his right
fist above his head and shook it furiously.

“Stop
or I'll mummify you!” His fist uncurled and he used those fingers
to point at the projection of Ron accusingly. He then scrunched up a
little as he prepared to run after Ron. As he was running – unable
to catch up with the projection of Ron – two more ghosts of him
appeared next to him, as if running with him.

He
skidded to a stop and stared at them in surprise. “This place
really is
haunted!”

Harry
was now manning the projector. He whispered with a tone of childlike
excitement: “Now watch what he does when he sees the tape of you,
Greg.”

“Yeah!”
Greg cried out in agreement, looking eager.

The
'ghost' gaped fearfully for a second when he noticed a giant ghostly
Greg looming over him. “Oh no!” He exclaimed in terror. The giant
Greg growled menacingly. “That does it!” The 'ghost' cried out
just before he took off running.

“It's
working, Pansy!” Harry gloated to Draco's best friend, who was now
standing next to the gang on the balcony, watching the resolution.
She had capably managed to free herself a while ago and let them know
about the hidden room she'd been held captive in. Draco had hugged
her tight in relief for nearly a minute straight before she rolled
her eyes and pushed him away.

“The
bloody idiot's going into the secret room where he had me tied up,”
Pansy informed them as they watched the fake ghost run into the
opening behind the bookcase. The cabinet slid shut behind him.

Inside
the secret room, the 'ghost' made sure the wall was sealed shut.
“Well, little miss Pansy, I still have you and the fortune shall
yet be mi–” He cut himself off abruptly when he turned around and
realized that he didn't have Pansy tied to a chair behind him, but
rather the purple armchair with the skeleton of her Uncle Stewart.

Clearly
surprised, he roared: “How did that get here?!” Now spooked, he
added: “Let me out of here!” And ran out of the secret room the
moment the sliding wall/cabinet full of books opened again.

“Here
he comes!” Ron announced excitedly. He was standing on the balcony
with Harry, Draco, and Hermione – all of them holding a net.

Draco
smirked almost evilly. “Salazar! He's running as if a ghost was
after him.”

“Now!
Throw it!” Harry ordered.

“Bombs
away!” Ron exclaimed as they threw the net down onto the impostor
ghost. Who fell to the ground with a loud thud and some anguished
struggling. He fell silent when he looked up and saw them watching
him.

“I
guess that about wraps up the ghost story!” Hermione announced
gleefully.

“Ha
ha, ghost story,” Greg snorted, getting the joke.

Just
a little while later, the gang was back in the Parkinson Mansion with
Pansy, the 'ghost' tied to a chair, and Mr. Parkinson, who had
finally returned from fetching an Auror. Although, the rather long
delay must have been because the Auror refused to believe or
accompany him.

Harry
held up a cleaning rag and said: “Mr. Parkinson, this ghost
really doesn't need
any introduction. As soon as we clean him up...”

Ron
sprayed a can of cleaner on the 'ghost's' blue face and Harry swished
the rag around the face fairly roughly.

“I'm
sure you'll recognize him,” Harry continued with a proud smirk at a
job well done. “There! Look familiar?”

Pansy
gasped in recognition. “Uncle Stewart!” The blue was completely
gone, revealing a middle aged man with normal skin color, brown hair,
and a well groomed brown beard. His thick black glasses were on his
face, implying that they had been hidden by the paint somehow.
Probably via a glamour.

“Like,
in person,” Ron confirmed with a grin.

“He
thought he could scare you into giving up the Parkinson Family
Fortune,” Harry explained, although that part had been rather
obvious since the beginning.

“That
ghostly wailing was only a recording,” Draco added.

“And
by a clever use of muggle stage make up, he made himself look old,”
Hermione informed them.

“When
I came downstairs to investigate a noise, I saw Uncle Stewart's wig
blow off,” Pansy murmured, sounding like everything was finally
making sense. “I knew he wasn't old!”

“So
he had to take you
prisoner?” Mr. Parkinson stated more than asked.

Pansy
shrugged indifferently, and then looked at Draco. “But how did the
Swami shop enter into the scheme?”

“What
better way for a swindler to disappear?” Draco asked, but it was a
rhetorical question.

“Uncle
Stewart!” Pansy admonished in deep disappointment. “Why did you
do it?”

Her
father harrumphed before her uncle could say a word. “Well, I guess
he can explain it to the Auror when he gets here.” He then looked
over at the table, which was utterly laden with food. “I bet you
kids are starving.”

“Salazar
yes!” Pansy exclaimed crankily.

“Merlin's
crooked teeth! That's
all for me!” Ron insisted, remembering that he hadn't eaten more
than a couple of biscuits in probably six or so hours. He rushed over
to the table before anyone else could to lift up the large cover
keeping the food warm and pest free. Instead of food, he found a note
propped up on a platter that said: Gregory Goyle was here.
“Hey! What's this? … Gregory Goyle was here. The whole turkey!
Gone?!”

Greg
popped up with a mischievous smirk at the other end of the table and
held up a single uneaten turkey leg, which he promptly devoured with
obvious enjoyment. “Heh heh heh heh!”

Everyone
groaned, rolled their eyes, and shook their heads. Leave it to Greg
to be three steps ahead of them when it came to food!

About Me

What does 5 Degrees of Weirdness mean? It means that there are 5 things about me that make me weird, different, and feel isolated from the rest of the world. I've decided that this blog will be the totally honest me, so here they are: 1- Food Nazi, 2- Homeschooling Mama, 3- Nudist, 4- Wiccan, 5- Swinger. Throw in a passion for crochet, and being a stay at home mama, and one can imagine how hard it is to find someone that shares my weirdnesses, lol!